Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (49 page)
Read Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy Online
Authors: Ethan Risso
The sweet aroma of violets cradled Connor in the darkness. Numb to his other senses, he no longer felt pain. Then, somewhere beyond, he heard chirping birds and rustling leaves.
“Connor?” A familiar voice spoke softly beside him, and he opened his eyes as sensation once again filled his body.
“Ceridwen?”
“He is alive!” Sawyl cried out.
Connor looked up to see the branches of a massive tree, an oak, with sunlight filtering through its bright green leaves. Ceridwen and Sawyl knelt next to him, and even the High Priest Cairbre stood over him.
“Where are we?” He coughed as he sat up with Ceridwen’s assistance.
“Still atop the Brynmor,” she answered, helping him to his feet.
“We slept through the night,” Cairbre added, “Only waking not long ago ourselves.”
Beneath the weaving tendrils of the oak’s roots lay the remains of two of the bonfires which burned the night before.
“This tree is all that is now left of the Lady Rhiannon,” Ceridwen said as she placed her hand on the trunk.
“What of the soldiers? What has happened?”
“See for yourself.”
Connor turned to survey the area. A blanket of violets covered the Brynmor in a swath from the oak to the forest.
“The Lady Rhiannon turned them to flowers,” Sawyl declared.
“We do not know that.” Ceridwen shook her head. “It seems unbelievable. She was an Alfar though, so it could have been in her power to do such a thing.”
“All that is certain is they have vanished,” said Cairbre. “And we remain.”
“And what of the others?” Connor asked, feeling Sawyl at his side.
“The fortunate ones have scattered. Aife and Llewelyn took search parties to survey the forest.” Ceridwen crossed her arms, cradling herself as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But we have not seen anyone else since waking. Even the bodies of those who were slain have vanished without a trace.”
“They could be flowers.” Sawyl looked up at her, and Connor remembered what he told the boy the night prior. “Maybe the Goddess turned them into flowers because she likes them so much.”
Connor smiled at the thought.
Teary-eyed, she replied, “Yes, you could be right.”
“Look.” Sawyl pointed. “Rhys!”
Connor remembered seeing the priestess in Cærwyn, the day Ceridwen left.
“Thank the Goddess,” Ceridwen said.
Rhys brushed her bedraggled hair away from her face, slicking it back with the sweat from her forehead.
“Aife told me I would find you here.” Rhys stopped at the foot of the Brynmor.
“And you came here alone?” Cairbre stepped to Ceridwen’s side.
She shook her head. “I found some of the proselytes and led them to safety. Aife’s party happened upon us while we hid in the forest.”
Ceridwen rubbed her arms. “How many survived?”
“I do not know, Lady.” Rhys took a deep breath. “It will take time to count the dead, and many are still hiding in the forest, unaware the assailants are no longer here.”
“We should go to the enclave to assess the situation. We will regroup and send out further search parties once Aife and Llewelyn return.”
“Aife is attending to the wounded in the meetinghouse,” Rhys said.
“Sawyl.” Ceridwen face the boy. “Show Connor where the meetinghouse is. I want Aife to see to both of you. Walk slowly.”
“I—” Connor meant to object, but thought better of it when he felt Sawyl’s hand hit against the tender cut on his palm.
“When you have been attended to, come find me.”
He gave Ceridwen a nod and walked down the slope of the Brynmor, leaning on Sawyl’s shoulder with more weight than he wanted.
Inside the meetinghouse, a priestess dressed in rusty red robes hurried about, instructing several younger priests and priestesses how to tend to the injured.
“Aife!” Sawyl called out as the red-robed priestess rushed by.
She stopped in front of them and looked down at Sawyl, a labored smile on her face. “It is good to see you alive, child.”
“Ceridwen told us to see you.”
Aife nodded. “Here, sit here.”
The boy ran forward and hopped onto the bench. Connor followed, sitting beside him.
As Aife looked over Sawyl, Connor scanned the room.
The length of the hall had been turned into a makeshift ward, skins and bedstraw filling the room. Moans of the injured rattled in his ears, despite his effort to keep the noise out of his mind. Though the hall would have been cold without a fire burning, the sheer amount of bodies in the confined space made him feel as though the full heat of summer bore down upon him.
“And you?” Aife looked down at him. “That is a frightful cut.”
Connor held his hand out to her. “It does not hurt as much now.”
“Stay here.” Aife picked up a basket from the table opposite them. She returned with a pile of linen strips alongside a crock and two wooden bowls. She took his hand in hers and slathered a thick layer of greasy poultice across his palm. “This should help.”
He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. The cut was deeper and much more painful than he realized.
“Pull the sleeve of your tunic up. I will tie the bandages higher so they do not slip.”
Connor rolled up his sleeve, and Aife jerked her hand away.
“Whas’at?” Sawyl leaned over, poking his arm with his forefinger.
Connor felt a heavy weight press down on him when he saw the delicate, webbed pattern of crimson around his forearm. It was the same striations which spread from the wound on his chest.
“It is nothing.” He jerked his sleeve back down. “I should go. Ceridwen wanted me to return.”
Aife only gave him a nod, but she looked suspicious. There was no way he could explain the markings on his arm. Not then, at least.
Sawyl hopped off the bench and meant to follow, but Aife stopped him. “Not you, little one. I still need to bandage that head of yours.”
“But—”
“Sit back down.”
Sawyl sighed and slumped back on the bench.
“We will meet later,” Connor said with a smile, leaving the meetinghouse.
Ceridwen had not told him where he should find her, and she could be anywhere within Arlais now that she was the high priestess. But he would start at the Brynmor.
As he followed the path from the center of Arlais to the north, the one created by generations of priests and priestesses walking the length to the holy mound, he rubbed the raised striations on his forearm. Would he ever find a cure?
He felt the starmetal sword on his belt, and thought of the one who gave it to him. “Gawain, where are you?” he wondered aloud in the quiet forest.
The trees parted, and the sight of the oak tree now atop the Brynmor caught him by surprise. The gargantuan tree towered over the rest of the forest and shaded the clearing from the morning sun.
Ceridwen stood near the well at the base, its stone now cradled by the roots of the oak.
“You wanted to see me?”
She did not answer at first, but took a deep, lingering breath.
He took a few steps closer.
“Yes.” She turned to face him, her eyes red and puffy.
“Aife bandaged me.” He held out his hand.
“Connor, your arm!”
He pulled his sleeve halfway up. “It spread.”
Ceridwen stared in silence.
“I had hoped…I know you said the Lady Rhiannon could not heal me, but I thought after that light…” He sighed, pulling his sleeve back down.
She massaged her temples, closing her eyes.
“Ceridwen,” he stumbled over his thoughts, “The man. The one I killed…” He kicked away some of the snow, and the scent of violets perfumed the air.
She opened her eyes. “What of him?”
“I recognized him.”
Her brow furrowed. “You had seen him before? Where?”
“He was there that night in Cærwyn, when we were attacked. I fought him off then as well, near the central stairs.”
“Surely it was not the same man.” She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Do you think I would forget his face?”
“No, I do not suppose you would.”
“What are we to do now?” Connor looked up at the oak tree which towered above them.
“We must gather those who remain so that we may rebuild Arlais,” Ceridwen replied as she faced the oak as well.
Connor realized she possessed a radiance she did not have before. She looked different, like the Lady Rhiannon. Before he could make mention of the observation, she turned to him and took his hands in hers.
“Welcome to the service of the Goddess, my dear child.”
This book was designed by the author,
Ethan Risso
.
The text face of the paperback and hardcover version is Minion Pro Medium, designed by Robert Slimbach. The typeface is an enlargement of Slimbach’s original Minion type, published by Adobe Systems in Mountain View, California, in 1989.
The display face, including book cover and title page, is Requiem, originally designed by Jonathan Hoefler for
Travel & Leisure
in 1992.
Cover illustration is a digital painting by
Andrew Ryan
, commissioned for the first edition of the book and completed in 2012.
Frontispiece illustration drawn by the author.
Cartographic illustration featured in the paperback and hardcover versions was hand drawn by Tony Mullins, commissioned for the first edition of the book in 2012. The map’s type is set in three faces: Northumbria by David Kerkhoff, 825 Karolus by Gilles Le Corre, and Agedage Simple Versal by Ryoichi Tsunekawa. Typesetting and additional illustration by the author.
The ebook edition was formatted by
Guido Henkel
for ePub and MOBI formats in 2013.
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